


Fail to Connect with My Lover

by calleryfield



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calleryfield/pseuds/calleryfield
Summary: A drabble of what was going on in 9S's head after killing those 2B models in the Tower





	Fail to Connect with My Lover

I was so desperate for that warmth that humans used to speak of when they talked of “love” : talks of long, warm embraces, warm presses of bodies against each other, and the warm touch of lips locked together. 

I yearned for it, but I don’t think I truly understood it. Warm... is it warm like the sun shining down as we ran through the city ruins? Is it the same kind of warmth that scorched our skin as we struggled through the sands of the desert? Is it that kind of warmth that I feel whenever we fought against the machines so blindly? Is it the same kind of warmth?

It couldn’t be. I never yearned for those kinds of warmth as I did for the warmth of touch, desperate to feel it against me. Some way. _Any_ way.

Still I was desperate to understand.

The “you” that stands before me. It can’t be the you I know.

The “you” that I laid waste to. I was desperate to imagine that it is you your hands I’m reaching out to, your hands that I wanted to cling to so badly, and I placed them against my cheeks, wishing that you’d gently hold them — caress them.

But your eyes are closed. You don’t see me, as I rest your hand on my cheeks.

And there is no warmth in these hands. Nothing like the sunlight of the city ruins or the desert. It’s not that passionate feeling I get when we fought side by side together. How weird. The ones that we’ve come to hold dear — the ones we were supposed to protect — they talked of this warmth upon touch, when we finally connect.

But there’s none of that; just cold skin pressing against my face. I almost want to scoff, wondering if that too is merely a ruse like all the things I’ve come to know.

And yet, I still wanted to learn. I wanted to know that touch they spoke of. I wanted to understand it with you.

Then suddenly, I feel some heat on my face. I blink in shock at the sudden flash of heat, and I press your hands against my face harder, trying to keep all this warmth as my own. I had to keep some part of you somehow someway.

But these fingers... they remain cold against my cheeks. No matter how much I try to keep that warmth, there is no way that they’re from you.

No, this warmth. It’s my own. It’s my own tears that leak from my eyes and burn my face. Tears in realization that the connection I want — the warmth I want to feel — it won’t come. A fool I am to believe it will ever come since the beginning.

 

Still, I —


End file.
